


thank you for the music (for giving it to me)

by bevioletskies



Series: fic prompts & drabbles [5]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Letters, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15336639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevioletskies/pseuds/bevioletskies
Summary: She pulled out something small from her bedside table and held it out for him to take - an envelope. A nondescript, plain envelope, only heavy enough to carry one sheet of paper, maybe two. He glanced at her curiously, but she merely smiled and slipped out of bed, ready to start the day like it was any other. “Read it when you’re alone,” she instructed as she got dressed. “I’ll remind the others to go easy on you.”“Thanks, Gamora.” He stretched his arm out over the length of the mattress to clasp her hand before she could leave. “Love you.”“Don’t be dramatic. I’ll see you at breakfast in a few minutes, once youfinallydecide to get out of bed,” Gamora said, shaking her head amusedly. “Love you too.”(Anonymous fic prompt: Gamora or Peter finds out that the other never celebrates their birthday and decides to write them a letter as a gift)





	thank you for the music (for giving it to me)

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoiler warning** for _Avengers: Infinity War_. Fic title is from the song [Thank You For The Music](https://open.spotify.com/track/1HNWHQqLxjI2LXnlIY9DTR?si=htCC3I_PQPK806Kou9h2hQ) by ABBA.

The conversation had started off innocently enough; Gamora and Peter were sat by the vantage window of the Benatar, legs loosely tangled together, sharing a bottle of whatever awful booze Rocket claimed to have purchased at a bar on Contraxia (but they were certain he had actually stolen). It was a quiet night between jobs, their cash flow was astonishingly reasonable, and no one had fought or broken anything in about three days. It was nothing short of a miracle.

“Worst hangover ever?” Peter asked, taking a swig and wincing as he did.

“I can’t get hangovers, though I’m not sure that’s something to brag about,” Gamora admitted, tapping a finger against her temple, where the silver of her body modifications was most prominent. “You’ve already seen how much it takes to get me drunk.”

“You make me look like a damn lightweight, honey,” Peter said affectionately. He passed her the bottle with a knowing smirk. “Okay, your turn.”

“Well…” Gamora hummed, pressing the mouth of the bottle against her bottom lip. “Best sex you’ve ever had?”

Peter gaped at her. “ _Gamora_.”

“Is that your answer?” She giggled softly, pausing to drink. “Maybe I _am_ a little tipsy right now. Contraxians love dealing in banned Kathulosian alcohol, far stronger than our usual inventory from the fancy stores on Xandar.”

“Of _course_ my answer is you.” He paused, then smiled winningly. “Do I get any points for that?”

“You’re in dangerous waters, Peter Quill, but we’ll see if I feel more generous later tonight,” Gamora teased. “Next.”

“Your least favorite job we’ve ever done,” Peter suggested, taking the bottle back.

“Going to Knowhere only to get taken and killed by my father is certainly up there,” Gamora said dryly. Peter winced, lifting the bottle for another drink. He was certainly going to need it after recalling the trauma of that very moment. “Best birthday? Whatever that means to you, I guess.”

His arm paused halfway up in the air. “I dunno. Birthdays...they’re not really my thing.”

Gamora quirked her brow. “Indulgent days that involve music, dancing, excessive drinking, and self-congratulatory praise? They sound like they were _made_ for you.”

“I know we’ve had, like, special dinners on my birthdays these past few years, but...it feels weird sometimes.” He slowly drew his legs away from hers, pulling them into his chest as he set the bottle down between them.

“Why?”

“‘Cos the woman who brought me into this world is no longer in it.” Peter smiled ruefully. “It sounds dumb, I know.”

“No, not at all,” Gamora said, immediately leaning forward to rest a reassuring hand across his forearm. “I should have realized. I’m sorry, Peter.”

“Nah, it’s okay. You got a point. Birthdays are about celebratin’, having fun with loved ones. And I’m all about both.” His smile softened to something more affectionate, reaching to cup her face in his hand, gently running a thumb across her cheek. “You know me. I just miss her like crazy sometimes. Thinkin’ about how I used to spend my birthday when it was just me and her, and how I’m never gonna get those times back...makes it harder to capture that feeling again.”

Gamora leaned into his touch, shuffling closer until her elbows rested on top of his knees. “I know we’re no substitute for your mother’s affection. But I hope that someday, your memories of her won’t be nearly as bittersweet. There’s peace in fond remembrance, Peter. I feel the same way about my family, about how _I_ used to spend birthdays in my parents’ company. Just don’t let her absence consume you.”

Exhaling slowly, Peter tilted his head slightly to bring their foreheads together, his stormy gaze meeting her warm, liquid eyes. “Well, easier said than done. But you’re right. Mom would want me to be happy. And I am, most of the time. We all have bad days, right? Some more than others, but I’m not one of ‘em.”

“No, you’re not,” Gamora agreed, smiling encouragingly. “You’re spirited, for lack of a better word. One of the many reasons that I love you.”

Peter laughed softly in awe. “Man, you _are_ feelin’ generous tonight, aren’t you?”

Gamora got to her feet, holding her hand out for Peter to take. “Why don’t I take you to bed and show you _exactly_ how I’m feeling?”

* * *

As the months went by, the lingering hollow in Peter’s chest from that night’s conversation faded away. He still dwelled on the memory every now and then, whenever he was reminded of his mother, but it didn’t pain him nearly as much as it did at the moment. Gamora had good intentions when she’d asked, and for the most part, he knew she was right.

Then came his birthday - his thirty-ninth, to be exact - and the warm pit of dread settled in his stomach all over again. He knew the other Guardians already had presents for him, sitting in a pile by his co-pilot’s seat in the cockpit, and Drax and Mantis were charged with making him his favorite foods for breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner, but part of him wanted to stay in bed and sulk.

“Happy birthday.” Gamora rolled over in bed to brush a kiss against his cheek. “I have something for you.”

“You didn’t put it with the rest?” Peter grouched, though at Gamora’s hurt expression, he immediately regretted it. “Crap - sorry, Gamora, I’m just...you know. Anyways, what is it?”

She pulled out something small from her bedside table and held it out for him to take - an envelope. A nondescript, plain envelope, only heavy enough to carry one sheet of paper, maybe two. He glanced at her curiously, but she merely smiled and slipped out of bed, ready to start the day like it was any other. “Read it when you’re alone,” she instructed as she got dressed. “I’ll remind the others to go easy on you.”

“Thanks, Gamora.” He stretched his arm out over the length of the mattress to clasp her hand before she could leave. “Love you.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’ll see you at breakfast in a few minutes, once you  _finally_ decide to get out of bed,” Gamora said, shaking her head amusedly. “Love you too.”

Peter went about most of his day in a haze, accepting and opening presents and unusually genuine compliments with a sort of tightness in his smile, ambling about the ship aimlessly in absence of a job or task to do. He wasn’t sure what to do with the envelope, either - of _course_ he wanted to read it, but there was something so unexpected about it, so extraordinarily intimate for Gamora, that he felt like it needed to be treated delicately.

He passed her every now and then throughout the day, always making sure to kiss her forehead and check to see if she needed anything. As always, she was doing her usual duties, sifting through correspondence and poring over their logs for any glaring inaccuracies. Gamora would look at him curiously, silently asking if he had opened it yet, only for him to shake his head and continue on elsewhere.

Finally, after he was pleasantly drowsy from the hearty dinner (and dessert) that Drax and Mantis had carefully prepared for him and a spontaneous dance party initiated by Rocket, of all people, he retreated to their bunk, knowing Gamora was likely having her daily evening chat with her sister elsewhere on the ship. He’d have at least an hour or so before she returned. Feeling oddly nervous, he ran a fingernail along the crease of the envelope and slid the letter out.

It was a single sheet of thick, white letter paper, the kind that they definitely didn’t keep on the ship, adorned with Gamora’s neat, tight cursive. He fixed his gaze upon the first word - his name - allowing the translator implant some time to adjust. Though he and Gamora had been teaching each other the basics of their own languages, they certainly weren’t skilled enough to write a whole letter or carry a conversation yet. Peter settled into the bed, his back against the pillows, and began to read.

“Peter,

You’re probably wondering why I’ve written you a letter, of all things, and where my actual present for you is. After our conversation from a few months ago, I thought this could be my present this year. Besides, I already let you bid far too much on those vintage Terran baseball cards you saw in a silent auction on Drez-Lar a month ago, mostly because I felt bad for accidentally breaking your nose during our Tiran drug bust. Consider that my present if the absence of one bothers you so much.” Peter snorted.

“I know you, Peter. Maybe _too_ well sometimes. You’ve been sad lately. Not depressed, necessarily, just a little absent. I know the events of Thanos’s treachery still haunt you. You still mourn your mother. You can hardly bring yourself to say Yondu’s name. Recovery is not a single stop for you. It’s a long road.”

“It doesn’t have to be lonely, though. I’m here for you, always. I’m guessing you believe it would be selfish of you to complain to me, and that’s why you’ve been so quiet. After all, I was the one that actually died. You also think it’s your fault. You think you were the reason Thanos got me. You think you were the reason Thanos succeeded in completing the Infinity Gauntlet and taking out half the universe. I say, no one else would have done it differently, and I dare them to say otherwise.”

“The point of this letter, though, isn’t going over old grievances of yours, though I hope that someday, they’ll be just a bad memory instead of a recurring nightmare. The point is to tell you some of the things that I have trouble saying out loud sometimes, and may still have trouble putting to paper. You’ve always been so vocal about your affections, especially ever since we started dating, and I could never bring myself to return the favor because it felt so difficult to make them understood. But I’ll give it a try.”

“When we met on Xandar outside the Broker’s shop, I’ll admit, I found you physically attractive, but in the way that people see attractive individuals in passing, only to forget about them entirely a moment later. Then you began to speak, and I started to question how someone like you got a hold of the Orb, of all people. Korath spoke of your encounter with him like you were a particularly dangerous man, and all I saw was someone who probably stumbled into the situation by accident. It was only when I glimpsed your Ravager badge that I realized I had been too quick to judge, and when you very nearly outsmarted me that I understood you were a worthy opponent.”

“In all honesty, I thought very little about you once we were in the Kyln; I had more pressing issues to deal with. I remember you fumbling around, trailing after Rocket and Groot like a lost child, and griping about your Walkman like it was precious - as it turns out, it was. It was only when we talked on Knowhere that I really began to listen. There was an empathy in you, a passion, a kindness, that I found far more captivating than simply going by your looks and your obvious charms. You were willing to share your life story and your music right away, even though we barely knew each other. You sympathized for my plight even though I didn’t think I deserved pity at the time. Attempting to kiss me afterward, though, was a bit much. Boundaries are boundaries, Peter Quill.”

“The rest of what led to us becoming the Guardians feels a bit like a blur. The fight felt so enormous at the time, only to be triumphed by some of the biggest battles of all. You saving my life, though, is something I’ll never forget, even though you ruined the moment. You do that far too often, but I find it more charming than irritating - most of the time, at least. Actually, I think that summarizes you quite nicely, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“And now, here we are, five years later, having survived insurmountable pressure and unforeseeable circumstances. I can tell we’re both exhausted, but I could never tire of you, Peter. You are my family. You are my best friend. It may sound dramatic, but there’s no denying that you’ve changed my life. When I went after the Orb, I was almost certain it would be a suicide mission. In a way, it was - Thanos finally caught up to me four years later, and successfully killed me. But I had no delusions of what my life would be like after escaping his clutches, only a desperate hope that I would somehow survive. With you and the other Guardians, I have done so much more than survive. I found a new purpose, a reason to keep moving forward. I have renewed hope in humanity, and newfound faith in myself. The journey was my own, and the choices I made were of my own volition, but you have been there for me along the entire way, without fail.”

“You might be wondering why I decided to write this letter this year, of all years. It’s partially because of our conversation, but mostly because I found the box in your underwear drawer.” Peter's breath hitched. “I don’t know why you thought that was a good hiding place, considering you almost never do your own laundry. Stop letting Mantis do your chores for you, Peter, she’s too kind to tell you otherwise. My answer, by the way, no matter when you ask, is yes.”

“If you’ve skipped over the entire letter and arrived at this last part, I wouldn’t blame you. I’m not sure why a simple paragraph or two about why I appreciate you turned into my scattered train of thought (your tendency to ramble on in lieu of meaningful conversation must be rubbing off on me). In short - happy birthday, Peter Quill. I love you. Thank you for everything you’ve done, not just for me, but for everyone. And please, be kind to yourself.”

Peter inhaled noisily, realizing a little too late that he was crying. With shaking hands, he set the letter down and reached for the tissue box. He dabbed hastily at his splotchy face, hoping to hide the evidence, though he was sure his eyes, cheeks, and nose were far too red to hide _anything_ from Gamora. And speaking of her - his heart swelled with joy at every word she had put to paper, every sly tease and endearing sentiment she’d slipped into something he knew he was going to read over and over again until the end of time.

A minute passed before the door creaked open, and Gamora peeked in with a tentative smile. “I see you’ve finally read it.”

He slowly sat up, gesturing for her to join him. “You sure got a way with words for someone who doesn’t like ‘em all that much,” he said with a watery laugh, instantly enveloping her in his arms the moment she sat down. “Thank you, Gamora. So freaking much. This...it’s the best birthday present anyone’s ever gotten me.”

“I hope you’ll take my advice,” Gamora said, tugging gently on his shoulders so they were both lying down. Their heads came to rest on their flat pillows, their bodies along their lumpy mattress. The metal walls creaked precariously around them in their tiny bunk of a bedroom, and despite appearances, it was perfect. “In this life that we’ve chosen for ourselves, I think people have already been so incredibly harsh on us, passed judgment and spewed vitriol. It’s difficult enough without us being cruel to ourselves. I know I spent _years_ resenting who I was and what I had done, and I’m tired of self-loathing and pity. Aren’t you?”

“My ego sure did get knocked down a few pegs since we first started,” Peter admitted, threading his fingers through her hair. “All that crap that people threw at us...sometimes literally...yeah, I guess you could say I’ve been feelin’ pretty bad about myself lately. But this...this was just what I needed to pick myself up.” He folded the letter carefully and tucked it back into the envelope, setting it down on his own bedside table, tucked right underneath the Zune, beside the last letter his mother had ever written him.

“Glad to hear it,” Gamora murmured, resting her forehead against his.

He closed the gap first, kissing her briefly, sweetly. When he pulled away, his signature smirk seemed to have returned, one corner of his mouth quirked upward in mirth. “So...do _you_ want a letter for your birthday?”

Gamora laughed, patting his chest affectionately. “Oh, I’m okay. Besides, your handwriting might be too much for my translator to handle.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in closer. “Fair point. And y’know, I don’t think there’s enough paper in the universe for me to write everything down.” His smile grew at remembrance of the little box in his drawer, the one he’d failed to keep hidden from her. “So I guess I’ll use all the time in the world to tell you instead.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the point in my prompt-filling...career(?) that I remembered the Guardians’ ship is now the Benatar, not the Milano. Whoops. Just pretend that my previous drabbles and fics set post- _Infinity War_ exist in a universe in which they went back to Berhert to retrieve the remains of the poor Milano, RIP
> 
> I’ve previously written a fic like this before, in which Gamora never celebrated her birthday, partially because she didn’t remember when it was, which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250444)! The existence of that fic is why I decided to challenge myself to flipping it the other way around and seeing if I could find a plausible reason that _Peter_ wouldn’t celebrate his birthday. I hope I succeeded!
> 
> You can read this fic on [tumblr](http://bevioletskies.tumblr.com/post/176037154599/starmora-prompt-either-gamora-or-peter-finds-out) if you'd like, and I take Peter/Gamora fic prompts at any time, including those for my own fic 'verses, [twenty questions](https://archiveofourown.org/series/823920) and [everybody wants to rule the world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841176). Thank you so much for reading, comments and kudos would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)


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